


a series of light hiccups and small delights

by reeses



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Drabble Collection, Everything is Happy and Nothing Hurts AU, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M, Multi, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 13:10:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3570872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reeses/pseuds/reeses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of one shots/drabbles about the wonderfully colorful and lively Shepherds that we've all come to know and love. Each one shot stands alone and may be set in different AUs with different pairings or none at all at different ratings. All of them are pretty much lighthearted and drowning in fluff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. gregor dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gregor offers to be Robin's surrogate father. Hurt/Comfort fluff. (Inspired by [this prompt](http://imaginefeawakening.tumblr.com/post/111543797695/))  
> Rated G

Robin sat on the edge of her cot, alone in her tent. She felt exhausted, haunted, and overall shitty from the whole ordeal.

Validar apparently decided that the best way to inform her of her parentage was to force himself into her mind. It was a lovely experience finding out that the same man whom she had murdered on the night of Emmeryn’s failed assassination was her father. Robin felt bile rise in her throat. She forced down some water as if that’d ease her nausea. It didn’t, but it helped anchor her to reality.

Chrom had found her lying on the ground convulsing as she fought off Validar’s influence. With the prince’s arrival, Validar ran. When Lissa and Libra carried her to the healer’s tent and fixed her up, they told her that there were traces of dark magic lingering in her system. Obviously _more_ good news, as if Validar’s claim on her wasn’t enough.

Tears pricked at her eyes. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She felt defiled, disgusted at… at… hell, she didn’t want to call that lowlife her father. He had no right to be. But it sure made her strangely lonely and bitter. While some of the Shepherds spoke of their fathers with a tinge of tenderness, Robin had none. She had some kind glimpses of her mother, but even that wasn’t enough. Something wet slid down her cheek.

She curled up into a ball as her frame shook with quiet weeping. Robin desperately wished that the others hadn’t left her alone like this. Some company would mean a lot to her.

“Robin? Is bright tactician in the tent?”

She froze. To be honest, Robin hadn’t expected to hear a heavily accented voice. She kind of expected Chrom or Lissa, or even Libra. (The latter of the three seemed like he knew what to do when a patient had a breakdown.)

“Gregor would like to make with the talking. Can he come inside?”

The tactician wiped her eyes and straightened herself out again.

“Yes you may. Come in.”

The familiar sellsword (“Is very swell sword,” he had joked when they recruited him) poked his head in.

“What is matter?” He asked as he lifted the tent flap and entered. “You are sounding like a very stiff board.”

She couldn’t make eye contact, even as the sellsword knelt in front of her and took her hands.

“Gregor is hearing about this very not so good happening. You want to talk with Gregor?” He asked in a gentle tone.

Somehow hearing those clumsy, kind words and his thick foreign accent made her feel a little more at ease. Her shoulders slackened as Robin inhaled a shuddering breath.

“… Where do I even begin?” she said, quietly. “My da―… Validar, he’s supposedly…”

Her hands clenched into tight fists. She couldn’t say it, even though it was blatantly obvious to her and the world now. The mark, the constant talk of Grima, _that damned face_. He shared her nose, the same eyes, the little mannerisms, and even the way they both narrowed their eyes into cruel slits when angered―they shared too many traits of each other. Worse yet was the disarmingly protective feeling she noticed in Validar’s presence, like he could make all the world’s troubles go away with a flick of his wrist. That sent a cold shudder down her spine. Robin worried her lip so much that she started tasting blood.

Gregor, still holding her hands, gently coaxed her fists open and gripped them in a protective hold. The gesture almost felt like a talisman warding away all the negativity and hurt in Robin’s heart. She wondered for a very brief moment if this is what it felt like to have a dad, a _parent_. It was a nice feeling.

“Gregor knows that Robin’s father is… bad. Very bad man. Is terrible excuse of a father.” He said with some righteous anger. Robin still couldn’t look at him in the eye as the veteran moved to sit next to her with a grunt, still holding her hands. “Let Gregor tell you story.

“When Gregor was little boy, Father made Gregor go up tree. Father said, ‘Gregor, you must stay in tree!’ He was strict man.”

Robin stopped worrying her lip. Where was he going with this?

Gregor continued, “Gregor is staying up tree for three days and nights. Is why Gregor not liking heights. But… Father and Mother is all I had.”

He turned to look at her with a warm smile, despite the strangely sad confession seconds ago. “Gregor knows you are remembering your parents not very well. So I make proposal: Gregor will be new father. Is very good, yes?”

Robin stared at him.

After a long silence, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face into his chest. She felt his strong arms pat her back as she let out her anger and sadness into great sobs. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t right that she woke up with no memories, that Validar could control her mind and only looked for her because she was connected to Grima. But she had family and friends and she would not trade the world for them.

When she was done crying, blubbering, and sniffling and her face was red and blotchy, Gregor pulled away to wipe her tears and snot. _Like a father to his daughter._ The thought made her smile, even giggle a little bit.

“Gregor is glad that you are stopping with the sulking and crying!” He said with a goofy grin. “Young lady is more beautiful than a meadow of flowers with the smiling.”

This Robin laughed, more grateful than she ever felt in her life.

The Shepherds were her real family, and no one could say otherwise.


	2. oh no hE'S HOT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin finds that her new neighbor is hot and oh my gODS HE'S HOT. Modern AU.  
> Rated K+ for some suggestive language.

She read a lot of books and learned a lot of words. People call her a walking, talking, breathing dictionary sometimes. Sometimes she’d laugh because it was true. Sometimes she’d sulk because people would actually try to use her as one. Sometimes she’d wear a poker face because people started to laugh at her for it.

Some days, she’d just give an insouciant smile and practice forbearance from starting an imbroglio. It’d be awful if she hurt someone’s feelings.

Today, she sits alone in the park on a bench as cozy as an inglenook. In her hands she holds a mystery novel that’s nearing its denouement with each page turned. She takes up the whole space (meant for two) by sitting in the middle so that no other can sit next to her. It’s her favorite bench and she’s fiercely protective of it. Patrons know of this and speed-walk past her demesne, daring not to disturb after what happened to the poor fellow who did.

Alas, that perfect serenity was ephemeral.

“Hey.”

 _What now?_ She thinks sourly and looks up. Her heart stops, then gambols.

What’s that word when you see a face so unreal that all the air from your lungs suddenly disappears and there’s all sorts of butterflies flying around in your stomach, like the whole world turns into an old Technicolor movie and you’re the hapless fool who falls head over heels in love at first sight? Breathtaking? Majestic? Captivating? Somehow those adjectives don’t quite capture the feeling right.

His halcyon face doesn’t lose its ebullience, and he kindly says hi again. “Mind if I sit with you?”

She can only nod dumbly and scoots over to give him room. He sits down and suddenly it feels like the bench is too small, there’s not enough space, and her heart is hammering away in her ears. She glances over at him. His chiseled face, with eyes as bright as clear summer skies and a strongly defined jawline that makes susceptible souls swoon, looks at her with a mixture of curiosity and… magnetism, like she’s the cynosure of a beautifully abstract sculpture.

“You’re new to this neighborhood, right?” His mellifluous voice asks her. She manages to nod, barely.

He offers his hand to her.

“My name’s Chrom. Yours?”

“R-Robin.” She says.

When she touches his hand, sparks shoot from her fingertips to her heart to the top of her head.

Then she realizes what the word for this feeling is.

Epiphany: the sudden realization that she wants to bang him so hard.


	3. whoops i fell in love with you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robin (can be either one or just your My Unit) and Libra may share some feelings for each other. In second POV. Romance, fluff. (Inspired by [this prompt](http://imaginefeawakening.tumblr.com/post/113496585470/).)  
> Rated K+ for gross fluff lol.

Most of the time, Libra somewhat prides (despite pride being a sin) himself on his self-discipline.

Which seems to crumble whenever you’re around. A twinkle in your eye, a small smirk, a delighted laugh—it all drives him mad. Each time you smile, Libra’s certain that Naga is testing him. Each time you look at him, the careful and placid facade he perfected for years since committing to the faith cracks just a little more. He even finds himself staring after you long after you leave. It’s no wonder after that incident with your torn cloak that he starts to avoid you and your precarious charms.

Of course, you don’t know any of this. In fact you’re a bit confused, maybe even a little upset. A pang of hurt resonates in your chest whenever you don’t see Libra around with his gentle hands and gentle eyes contributing something good to this world. You thought things were going well between the two of you. Why would he start avoiding you? You trace Libra’s odd absences back to that day you cut up your ankle on a piece of glass and… he fixed both you and your torn cloak. Heat creeps up your neck to your cheeks when you remember how you bandaged his pricked finger after a slip up with the needle and held his hand longer than necessary, and how his eyes never left your form without your trademark heavy cloak.

After a bit more mulling, you decide to find out Libra’s new hangout spots and talk to him. There’s tension between you two and you’re going to clear it up (and hopefully divulge some… meaningful information out of him) for the both of your sakes.

Time to confess your sins to a certain priest.

* * *

It’s been the third day since Libra last saw you and he’s anxious for various reasons. Nowadays, he’s usually with a few Shepherds (Lon’qu, Gaius, Panne, sometimes Virion) or lurking around the camp’s outer edges (“To help patrol,” he says). He’d be lying to himself to say that he didn’t run away like a coward, that you aren’t on his mind anymore, and that he doesn’t miss you. In fact, his strange malady got worse by tenfold ever since he started to avoid you.

You plague his mind like he plagues yours (but he doesn’t know _that_ latter half) at random times of the day. He thinks of your quirky mannerisms and the way your smile radiates warmly and how your eyes practically twinkle whenever you have an _eureka!_ moment. Sometimes he catches glimpses of you training, and sinful thoughts flash through his mind when he sees your form twisting and turning and sweat beading on your brow—he stops himself before he goes any further with that train of thought. Libra silently prays to Naga for forgiveness and guidance. _And that we meet again through some chance of circumstance_ , he adds, selfishly.

“Lo! There’s the man I wanted to see.”

He freezes. He slowly turns in place and looks over his shoulder.

You’re standing there, leaning back against a tree with smile in place. You tilt your head and greet him with a small wave of your hand. Libra turns around all the way immediately and nods his hello to you, pink dusting his cheeks.

 _Well then_ , he thinks with a gulp, _that was… prompt_.

Meanwhile, you’re wondering if anyone had ever seen Libra this flustered before. Suddenly you study the way his eyes barely meet yours shyly and how adorably his brow furrows nervously with an intensity rivaled to a fire, to jealously keep the new memory for yourself. Your smile grows bigger when Libra shifts uncomfortably under your roaming gaze.

“So,” you say.

“So,” he says. He fidgets.

You kick yourself off the tree trunk and step towards Libra. He steps back, just a little, and that’s when you strike.

“Libra,” you say, (and you don’t miss the way how the name on your tongue makes the priest’s breath hitch,) “how come I don’t see you around anymore?”

“I’ve been praying.” He replies easily, seeming somewhat more composed now (but you can still see a tinge of red on the tips of his ears).

A blatant lie, you think, but you’ll play along. The priest doesn’t budge from his spot and you’re now close enough that you can hear his quiet breathing. With some hesitance, you take his hand and you can feel him stiffen for a fleeting moment before relaxing. He intertwines his fingers with yours. Your heart beats gleefully against your chest in reply.

“What for?” You ask. Your previously cool demeanor is beginning to melt, and Libra’s far too perceptive to catch your nervously fidgeting.

His stare is more confident (and searingly intense) when it searches yours.

“You.”

You open your mouth to make a comeback, to say anything, but your voice dies in your throat when he cups your face so gently, almost reverently. It’s just… the way he looks at you, and the way his fingers brush against your skin… you feel like you’re flustered, just a little or maybe a lot. Gods damn it, you were supposed to fluster _him_ more, not the other way around. You aren’t quite sure how to feel about this, but maybe—or not even maybe, it’s blatantly obvious that you’re inexplicably _happy_ to see that he has the same feelings for you.

Libra leans in closer, his breath ghosting over your face when he whispers, “It seems that my prayers were answered.”

You feel your face heat up.

“I have a confession to make.”

He tilts his head and grins.

“Yes?”

 _He’s mimicking you_ , your bewildered mind helpfully supplies. But you’re too focused on his mesmerizing lips to really process anything. Without thinking, you tilt your head to the other side and lean in closer, so close that your lips almost touch his.

“I think I’m in love with a certain priest.”

“Pray, do tell who might that be,” he says teasingly, laughter evident in his voice.

“You.”

And you close the gap.


End file.
